


Without a Cause

by dragonofdispair



Series: On Causes [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bayverse. Sorta… Pre-Earth. A quick strike, Prowl decided. Overwhelm Praxus' meager defenses, then move in to occupy the city. It would take more than an outdated emotional attachment for him to betray the Decepticons.</p><p>OR: Prowl makes a badaft Decepticon, a sophisticated tac-net makes for a very difficult prisoner even when he's not trying to escape, and Bluestreak is totally a morality pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without a Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposting from my fanfiction.net account
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Just borrowing them for a few minutes…
> 
> Notes: Decepticon!Prowl has been seriously hijacking my brain, and after reading every story I could find starring him, and after finally seeing Age of Extinction and thinking there wasn't much difference between a Bot and a Con anymore, I finally just had to write him. Tried for weeks to write the fall of Praxus (given my DecepticonProwl is completely unrepentant about it), couldn't do better than any other author I've read tackling that subject (ending up stilted, boring and blah with only a couple of good bits) so I ended up writing this instead. Bluestreak snuck in there and by the time I noticed him, I couldn't kick him out of the fic… at least he isn't a sparkling.

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_Primary operating system - reinitializing. Designation: Search In Stealth. Current IFF signal setting: Frostdown - nil affiliation; former Praxan Foreign Affairs, military division._

Prowl onlined all at once. Battle subroutines brought his tac-net on first, and from there experience and training kept him still and his engine quiet while internal diagnostics ran and he examined his environment.

The changed IFF was his first datapoint. Frostdown had been one of Prowl's subordinates in the Praxan foreign military. A average soldier, whose only claim to competence had been that, like Prowl, he'd been sparked to do his job. He'd never been happy as a warrior, unlike Prowl, who'd earned his rank as a foot soldier and sniper before being allowed to chose a specialization. Unlike Prowl, Frostdown had gone AWOL -- and Prowl had let him, willing to see the unfairness of forced service when it came to a spark so unsuited for his task, but not yet able to apply that logic to himself -- vorns before Megatron had declared war on his brother Optimus. Vorns before Prowl had learned to hate the politicians who'd held his leash. Before Prowl had joined Megatron.

Also unlike Prowl, who after going AWOL himself had become _infamous_ , Frostdown had never been heard from again. Which was why Prowl used his old subordinate's IFF on occasions where he couldn't afford to be recognized. At this moment, as far as those around him were concerned, he was an unaligned warrior, not a Decepticon. Probably. 

Hopefully.

The vibration of the power engines of a troop transport against his sensor panels nearly overwhelmed any other impressions of his location and situation, so he carefully worked to dial down his vibro sensors and dial up others as the results of his diagnostics scrolled across his vision.

_Power: 30 percent_

_Communication systems: offline - medical override REDCROSS559-BETA_

Not one of Hook's codes, was his observation. He could hack it - probably - but until he knew more about his situation, the medic, and what the consequences of overriding the override would be, his tac-net advised against it.

_Weapon systems: offline - medial override REDCROSS559-BETA_

It didn't matter, he concluded as he got the rest of details on his weapons. His weapon systems weren't worth that much at the moment. He had no ammunition for either his missile launchers or his acid rifle, and a pair of cuffs -- unknown type as yet -- bound his hands, making his stun batons useless as well, even if they'd been functional.

_Active sensors: offline - medical override REDCROSS559-BETA_

_Transformation sequence: offline - medical override REDCROSS559-BETA_

_Damages…_

He reviewed the list. He was functional, he was relieved to note. All the damages were consistent with combat damage and easily correlated with either his memories -- 

_"FROSTDOWN!" the neutral screamed, panicking, as he - Prowl - was snatched from his place in their meager defenses. He tried striking his captor with a baton -- hit. Electricity crackled up the seeker's claw, tension wires firing uncontrollably making sharp digits tear into the armor plating of his victim, even as the shock ricocheted down, making Prowl hiss in pain. Shots fired at the seeker from the rooftop they'd been defending, succeeding in forcing the jet to drop his victim, but too late for there to be anything solid for him to land on._

_With a snarl, he twisted as he fell, targeting Starscream with his missiles. Physics -- every action has a reaction -- spun him as they streaked away. Still_ targeting, _he tracked the seeker through the explosions, and allowed his spin to bring his acid rifle to bear. A laser targeting assistance beam flickered over Starsream's wings. He fired, once … twice._

_Two missiles Prowl hadn't fired followed the laser target and hit the seeker, right as the two acid pellets landed, burning through wing plating. Starscream shrieked, transformed and angled away, trailing smoke, leaving his victim to fall._

\-- or the fall he must have taken out of Starscream's grip. The most critical and debilitating had already been seen to by a competent field medic.

As the list scrolled across his HUD, his sensors finally cleared enough for him to perceive the EM fields, IFF signals and infrared silhouettes of the bots around him. Quickly his compiled them into a clearer picture of his situation. The cuffs were a clue, but by themselves did not mean he wasn't among the Decepticons. He'd been declared a traitor. However the bots around him clarified the situation. Most -- including the closest -- of the nearby bots were angry, wary and had unmistakably Autobot IFF signatures. Ironhide, Aphabrand, Nightburst, Outjack -- all had Iaconian name suffix glyphs -- but there was one who wasn't either and Autobot or Iaconian. That bot's EM field was tired, grieving, riding the edge of shock, but also determined; IFF was Praxan Home Defense Corp -- Bluestreak.

No sooner than that information had joined the list of damages still scrolling across his HUD and the mech in question spoke. "You're safe for now. After you and I fragged that seeker -- which we fragged real good, even if he managed to fly away after the Autobots showed up. Just in time too," Bluestreak's infrared silhouette drooped, his sensor panels folding nearly against his back, "Praxus is still gone though," his glyphs were full of grief and sorrow.

The silhouette IFF tagged as 'Ironhide' shifted. "Who're ya talking to, Blue? The fragger's still offline."

Bluestreak's field flared with sudden irritation and anger. "My name is Blue _streak_." Of course it was… even Prowl hadn't been arrogant or stupid enough to shorten _Hits What I Target_ to a demeaning nickname, just because the name-glyph in question used _blue laser sight_ instead of the more general _aim_. It meant he was a sniper, not a prodigy who hadn't yet chosen a specialty. "And you're stupid," the glyph indicators around the word made the word an even harsher insult -- stupidity to the point of questionable sentience. "He pinged our IFFs almost a quarter bream ago."

No use pretending anymore. Prowl allowed his engine to quicken to an online rhythm and turned on his optics, taking in Ironhide's scowl and matching EM field, unimpressed, then began examining the rest of the transport. The black mech answered Prowl's indifference with an angry flare. Boring. Prowl took in the rest of his situation: cuffed with a pair of Iaconian police cuffs -- unhackable, as long as his communications system was down. He was the only one in the transport cuffed. Ironhide and Aphabrand were obviously guards. Outjack's IFF had a medic's tag, while Nightburst was in the transport's cockpit -- the pilot. Bluestreak's presence was an anomaly.

Certain he'd calculated everything the Autobots might want to say to him, he canted his sensor panels in an inquiring gesture aimed at Bluestreak.

"We're headed to Iacon," the other Praxan answered.

"Blue--!" "No--!" "Shut up!"

The faintest tinge of amusement colored the sniper's grieving field, even as he flicked his panels in a more exaggerated echo of the same. "What? He's smart enough to organize the twelve of us in defending an already bombed out building against half the Decepticon army for over a joor. He's smart enough to figure out where we're going." Prowl didn't bother bother correcting him; he'd believed them headed to the TCXO weapons plant -- Ironhide's location, according to Decepticon intelligence -- or to the ENDEC prisoner processing facility to be interrogated and shipped off world. Bluestreak turned back to Prowl. "They say you're a Decepticon."

There was something knowing and reassuring about the cant of the sniper's sensor panels as tension cracked through the Autobots' EM fields. They expected him to lie; it's possible they even wanted him to lie. Instead he consciously smoothed his own field into featureless neutrality. The Autobots already knew, at least, that he was a high ranking Decepticon despite the changes he'd made to his IFF during the battle when he'd allied with the neutral defenders -- else they would not be headed to Iacon. There was a ninety-seven point two percent chance they even knew his designation and a sixty-one point nine percent chance they'd already informed the sniper. There was little advantage to continuing the charade of being Frostdown, especially if attempting deception would benefit the Autobots. "I am. My designation is Prowl."

There was no surprise, he noted with satisfaction, at the revelation of his designation.

Tension turned to smug anticipation in Ironhide's field, then flared in shock as, "I know," Bluestreak answered. " _We_ know," he continued after a klik of shocked silence. "I - uh -" his glyphs were framed with embarrassment - determination and not-secrets, "I saw your etching," he tapped an armor panel on his chest, the one that had the symbol of the Praxan Defense Corp etched on it, which mirrored a missing panel on Prowl, "When you rescued me, before you removed it." Bluestreak's own red optics glared at Ironhide. _Determination_. "Doesn't change our decision."

Ironhide just frowned -- in all the ways it was possible for a bot to frown.

 

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"Kinky…" Bluestreak jerked awake with a clatter and a flare of surprise. The 'decision' he and the other, last beleaguered defenders of Praxus had made was apparently for at least one of them to stick to Prowl at all times like they'd been adhered there. They intended to ensure that Prowl was treated 'right'. After he'd saved their lives, they felt obligated to make sure the Autobots didn't just hack him and throw his frame into a smelting pit. Prowl might have felt… something, if he'd been a soft sparked Autobot. Instead he'd just felt the ticking of his tac-net as he'd calculated how to use the neutrals' loyalty.

In contrast to Bluestreak's reaction, Prowl only onlined his optics calmly. He'd had his vibro sensors dialed up to one-hundred and seven percent, trying to hear anything beyond the cell block. He'd heard the guards let the interrogator in, but not the mech himself. A lightning-fast search through the tac-net's files on known Autobot interrogators, crosschecked with mechs capable of sneaking up on a Praxan with his sensors dialed up as far as his currently were, had told Prowl who to expect. He looked into the silver bot's visor and forced himself to show -- to _feel_ \-- no fear. "But you know me -- I'll try anything twice."

 _What_ to expect was a different matter. Of all the variables Prowl could control -- even here in the position of prisoner -- the one literally named _Joy In Chaos_ wasn't one of them. Hopefully the other factors would be enough to reign in this one.

"Hello Jazz," except for the mech's Kaonex prefix-suffix name modifiers, Prowl kept the glyphs free of inflection. 

"What?" Jazz's own words were full of dark amusement - false promise - false lust. "Not going to beg me to spare the pretty neutral the sight of your torture?"

"No," Prowl laced his own with heavy indifference. Playing with the Autobot head of Special Ops and third in command was a dangerous pastime, one he would never indulge in battle or when trying to track him through a base, but it would serve a purpose here and now. It wasn't what the silver minibot would expect of the head Decepticon tactician. They'd clashed before, and it had been well established that the scarily efficient number cruncher could run a search pattern that was the absolute _Pit_ to escape from, but didn't actually understand humor well enough to be distracted by it. He used that reputation now. "I'm not the one who will suffer if you traumatize a neutral."

The silver mech didn't react, just deactivated the energy bars and began stringing him up by his bound wrists. Prowl let him. There was no use resisting, and he knew this would go no further than intimidation -- as long as Bluestreak was here. There was the crux of the matter. Autobots had a reputation they liked to maintain among neutrals, and even if this particular Autobot (or even most Autobots at that) wouldn't lose recharge over Bluestreak's health or wellbeing, their observer couldn't be easily disposed of beneath the gaze of the Prime. This would have been easier for Jazz at the ENDEC prisoner processing facility, away from both Iacon and Prime. Prowl realized it. Jazz realized it. They both knew the other realized it.

Prowl didn't expect it to stymie him for long. Just long enough.

"No," Jazz finally purred -- threat. Not an empty threat, but not an immediate one. "Gonna make you suffer for so much more than that."

"No!" Bluestreak stood. "You're not going to hurt him. I won't let you." The glyph modifiers for _determination - threat - combat readiness_ would have been more believable if he hadn't been leaning against the far wall to stay upright.

Jazz just looked at Prowl. "How'd you do it? Bribes? Threats? Reprogramming?"

"I saved his life," Prowl responded with airy indifference, as he gently tugged on the restraints from this new position to test them, then relaxed into their hold.

"Must have been difficult for you," that observation was pure snark, an attempt to provoke Prowl into saying something that would frighten the neutral guard. From that less-than-pleased glint in his visor, Jazz did not like that the prisoner was getting comfy, rather than nervously struggling. Both of them were too practiced at their own EM field manipulation to reveal anything of their true thoughts or feelings -- neither Prowl's utter neutrality nor Jazz's vicious anticipation wavered a micron.

"We all make sacrifices," again, his words stripped of all the emotional content they could have held, turning a what could have been a joking statement into a plain fact. 

Jazz looked to the neutral they were discussing. "You see how much you're worth to him?" Bluestreak just canted his sensor panels into a mulish expression. "You know he's just using you… don't you, Blue? Your life ain't worth anything to him at all."

The grey mech was too far away for Prowl to feel, but the irritation in his sensor panels was easy enough to read. "Blue _streak_." Resignation - determination - knowledge framed the sniper's words. Prowl listened intently, curious despite himself. He'd laid plans that depended on the neutrals' protection, but couldn't fathom the reasons that protection existed. Logically he and the others should have abandoned him after discovering his true designation and faction. Perhaps they believed he'd turned on the Decepticons during the attack? It was true enough that he couldn't really dispute it, Prowl supposed, even if Starscream had turned on him first. "And it's not about him -- it's about me--us. I'm not going to just stand by and allow a bot -- a bot that just saved my life -- get tortured and off lined, whatever his reasons for doing so. It's not for his sake -- it's for mine. So I don't care that right now he's manipulating me. And nothing you provoke him into saying is going to scare me off. I'm not going to release him or anything stupid like that, but I'm also not leaving."

The silver bot shrugged an armor panel, and continued circling his victim. "Fine, have it your way."

Prowl's communications systems were still down -- the medical lockdown had been reenforced by a prisoner protocol when he'd been taken to the brig -- but he felt the faint buzz of com traffic from Jazz, who was standing behind him, against his sensor panels. Calling one of his s superiors to determine what to do about Bluestreak's presence and stubbornness. 

 _Now_. Tactical calculations clattered together in his processors. Bluestreak and his morals had served their purpose -- he hadn't been tortured, hacked and deactivated the instant Jazz had walked in. But it was no longer an effective shield. Whatever Jazz's superiors had to say about the matter, Bluestreak was about to be forcibly removed (43 percent), thrown into another cell (10 percent), or sedated (45 percent) so that Prowl could be properly interrogated.

"Tell Prime," Prowl's flared his EM field with rock solid certainty to compliment the flatness of his voice. There were only a few mechs that outranked Jazz in the Autobot army. They were in Iacon, which meant the only mechs that outranked the head of special operations were Ultra Magnus and Prime. Magnus had, according to reports from both infiltrating drones and spies, long been resentful of special operations' -- personified by the department head's -- tendency to operate outside the Ultras' authority, leading to a just as long standing mutual resentment. Therefore, barring a sudden change in the status quo among Autobot command (Unlikely -- less than thirteen percent) the only logical person for Jazz to consult about his unexpectedly annoying neutral chaperone was Prime. Jazz's EM field didn't waver at Prowl's prediction, but he felt the faint shudder - no more than a wisp of displaced air - against his sensor panels that indicated the other had twitched minutely. Confirmation. "That if disposing of the Neutral is too much trouble for him, I have a proposal."

By Megatron's command, there was no such thing as neutral in this war… and Prowl? Prowl was a good soldier. He followed his superiors' commands.

Until the orn he didn't.

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End (…probably)


End file.
